


A Simple Test

by Ophelia_j



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Confessions, Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 02:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8514634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_j/pseuds/Ophelia_j
Summary: Watson is at the end of his tether with Holmes' drug use, and takes matters into his own hands.





	

His eyes open in horror as I jam the needle into my arm. As I depress the plunger I feel a slight pressure beneath my skin as the liquid enters my veins. I can hear my blood rushing in my ears and for a brief moment I am afraid. Then peculiar kind of peace descends with the knowledge that whatever happens now is unstoppable.

I regard my roommate with equanimity. ‘So let us test your theory that this mixed solution is entirely harmless.’

My voice breaks his frozen posture and he practically hurls himself across the room at me, pushing me into the settee, loosening my collar, and checking my pulse. His voice, when he speaks is almost a growl.

‘What have you done? Oh God, Watson, what have you done?’

I try not to sound bitter as I say lightly, ‘Perhaps I grew tired of watching and wanted the experience for myself. You made this particular cocktail sound most enticing – morphine and cocaine, in such precise amounts.’

He runs his hands through his hair. ‘Amounts that I am inured to! Amounts that would do me no harm!’

‘So you believe.’ I say firmly. ‘I say you are reckless and selfish.’ I am beginning to feel an odd tingling under my skin. The light in the room seems brighter. Is this an effect of the drug, or am I imagining it in my hyper-aware state?

‘I, reckless? I.’ he glares at me in disbelief. ‘Watson, have you ever taken these drugs before? Have you combined them? Do you know how they affect you?’ 

He is kneeling before me now, staring into my eyes, checking my pupils as he passes his hand over my forehead. His touch leaves sparks of sensation over my skin and I fight the sudden urge to laugh with glee. I move my head to follow his hand and he looks at me in alarm.

‘I will fetch Stamford.’ He rises with decision.

‘Oh, I don’t think so.’ 

The drug affects him in a way I am horribly familiar with. He becomes languorous, his movements slow, that great brain idled. It doesn’t seem to be having that effect on me. I am across the room, at the door, and locking it before he can react. The metal key is deliciously smooth and cool in my hand. I pocket it and smile at him.

‘I think,’ I say with certainty, ‘that you should have the full drug addict experience. And that means watching. With no intervention.’ I smile at him again, and he stares back in angry disbelief, his former lethargy fallen away.

The medical practitioner in my mind is observing now with interest. My respiration and heart rate have increased. My mood is buoyant. I laugh at nothing. My inhibitions are decreased. I am increasingly sensitive to stimuli.

He crosses the room, telegraphing his every move, and takes me by the arm, leading me back to the settee as one would a skittish animal. I find his exaggerated care amusing. His hand on my arm is incredibly warm, even through layers of fabric.

‘Alright, Watson.’ He says soothingly, ‘Whatever you like.’ He is kneeling in front of me again, looking into my eyes and away, his gaze flitting over me. He is deducing me, analysing the effect of the drug cocktail I have taken, and I find I like it. I like being the focus of Holmes’ attention. I can feel his gaze on me like sunlight. My clothes feel heavy where his hand moves across them. Only my current sensitivity to touch alerts me to the fact that he is picking my pocket, and I slap his hand away from the key. 

‘No, Holmes! No doctor.’ I spread my hands. ‘We have a doctor!’ for some reason the thought tickles me, and I laugh. ‘I am here.’

His unruffled demeanour falls away and he snaps, ‘Watson, for God’s sake be rational.’ He jumps up and begins to pace, casting anxious sideways glances at me.

He is afraid for me, as I had hoped he would be. He looks pale. Too pale. His hands are unsteady. I feel a spark of guilt. He is my friend and I am making him unhappy. But no, this is the aim of the exercise. I have become distracted. I intended to say things. My good mood slips and I frown in concentration.

He is at my side in an instant. ‘Is something wrong? What is it? Tell me.’ He is beside me now on the settee. He has seized my wrist to take my pulse again. His solicitation makes something tighten in my chest. I stare into his grey eyes, so close to mine in his concern, and I am suddenly overwhelmed with emotion I can’t quite name. I seize his hands in mine.

‘Holmes, don’t worry, I’m here, I’m fine. All is well.’ I take his face in my hands to make sure he is looking at me. My cheeks are wet and the cooling effect is a startling contrast to the heat of my hands against his face.

He is wide eyed. ‘Watson. You are…. frightening me.’ His voice is unsteady, and lower than I have heard it before.

‘This is what it’s like.’ I whisper urgently. The room is so, so bright, but I can’t take my eyes from his face.

‘What what is like?’ He is deducing me again. ‘John. Tell me.’

John. My name. To hear it in his voice is so rare, and so lovely, I almost forget my next words. I take his hands again.

‘Watching you. When you do this.’

‘No,’ he recoils, shakes his head. ‘This is very different. You are different.’

‘No!’ I say emphatically. ‘Just the –‘ I wave my hand ‘– effects are different. But this –‘I put my hand over my heart, without releasing his ‘– is the same. I hate it. Please stop. Please.’

He takes a breath. ‘I will try. God, I swear I will try, but promise me you won’t do this again. Watson. Promise me now.’

I nod. ‘I promise. I promise.’ I try to rest my forehead against his, but he pulls away slightly to raise his hand to my face, lifting my chin to examine my pupils again. His other hand is still clasped against my chest and I find I have no desire to let go.

The euphoria is fading but his hand on my face is still a source of tender sparks. I lean my head into his hand, chasing the sensation. I almost miss the flash of his rare smile as he does not pull away, but rests his hand more fully against my cheek. I lean into it, feeling a peaceful lethargy begin to settle in my bones. 

I smile at him and hear myself say quietly, happily, ‘I love you.’

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading stories on this site for years now and I've never been brave enough to post anything. Today I had a rush of blood to the head, wrote this in two hours and posted it. So, yeah, this is my first ever fic in any fandom. Um. I'll have to post this now before I lose the nerve.... Erm. There are some bloody marvellous writers on here, I'm not one of them, I'm a performer. Just so you know! Un'beta'd because I know literally no-one who writes fanfic. Please do point out any dreadful mistakes! Brit-spelling, 'cause I am. Sorry.


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